She stood near the center of the main floor, speaking to a small group, two men in tailored suits and a woman I vaguely recognized from the philanthropic circuit. Not seated. Not tucked away. She moved as she talked, hands expressive, posture relaxed, as if she belonged anywhere, she decided to stand.
Golden brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Not styled within an inch of its life. Not severe. Effortless in a way that suggested she hadn’t tried very hard, which made it worse. She wore a tailored skirt and heels that accentuated her long legs when she adjusted her weight. It irritated me that I noticed the length of her legs before I could correct myself.
Brown eyes that were almost amber in colour. Warm and attentive. A light scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, you’d only notice if you were paying attention.
I realized, belatedly, that I was.
She smiled at something one of the men in her group said, and it wasn’t contained. It reached her eyes, transforming features that, taken individually, might have been unremarkable into something quietly arresting.
People leaned toward her.
Not just the ones she spoke to. Conversations at neighbouring tables slowed, fractured, reoriented. Men pretended not to watch her but casually glanced her way. Women tracked her with quiet curiosity. She didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t acknowledge it. That bothered me more than if she had.I watched as interest sparked and held. It wasn’t overt desire. It was something more.
She laughed again, and it sounded like joy. Unfiltered. Unapologetic.
Entirely wrong for this room.
I turned back to my father.
He was watching me.
“Julian,” he said with mild irritation. “Are you listening?”
No, I somehow managed to get distracted.“Yes,” I answered.
“Good.” He followed my gaze, briefly this time, eyes narrowing with interest rather than distraction. “She draws people in.”
I said nothing.
“Women like that,” he continued, as if discussing market trends, “are useful.”
I sat perfectly still.
“She’s attractive,” he went on in between sips of wine. “Approachable. People trust her instinctively. That sort of presence smooths rough edges.”
I stared at him. “She’s irrelevant.”
He smiled, faint and knowing. “Nothing that draws attention is irrelevant.”
Another laugh carried across the room.
My father watched her for a moment longer. “Someone like her would make an excellent accessory.”
The word "accessory" hit exactly as he intended.
“Professional,” he added. “Polished without being threatening. Familiar enough to reassure. Beautiful, but not overtly.”
I felt something strange and sharp in my chest.
“She’s not an accessory,” I said flatly.
He glanced back at me, unbothered. “Your mother never understood that distinction. That even a strong man needs someone on his arm. Someone who understands their role.”
There it was.
A dig, clean and surgical.
The implication was clear, and so was the expectation.
